


Finish It Later

by orphan_account



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Creampie, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Squirting, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-05 22:37:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5392817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All you wanted to do was read your book and write your college paper but Mettaton has other ideas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finish It Later

**Author's Note:**

> This took forever and a day because I got sick and spent days just sleeping. But enough about that. Enjoy this f̶i̶l̶t̶h̶y̶ ̶s̶i̶n̶f̶e̶s̶t̶ lovely piece of work.

You knew that he was bending over your desk to make sure you got a good look at where exactly those high-waisted shorts ended. Fabric gave way to grey thighs and you couldn’t help but stare.  
“See something you like, darling?” Mettaton purred, bending over even further (How was that possible, you wondered as you marvelled at the expanses of bare thigh).  
You choked back the sigh you wanted to breath into the crook of his neck. You had an image of you pounding into him, synthetic hair grasped in your fist. It would piss him off.  
You settled on choking out, “Maybe.”  
Mettaton laughed in that bratty little way. Was it possible to choke the living shit out of a robot? Probably not.  
“Maybe I’ll let you touch,” Mettaton teased. “But only if you can behave.”  
“I don’t think I’m the one misbehaving,” you pointed out, trying to focus on the book in front of you. So many references about apricots.   
Mettaton sat up on your desk, legs crossed at the knees. You reached over and patted his hip.  
“Soon, babe,” you assured him.  
“Please?” Mettaton asked. “I won’t say a word after.”  
You considered it for a long moment. Distracting yourself with the sexiest thing to grace your desk (And no, the time you cried and stared the the most perfectly formatted essay after two straight days without sleep didn’t count) or read about . . . apricots?  
Well, that was pretty much decided for you.  
You marked your place and left the book on you desk. Mettaton clapped his hands together in delight and grinned at you.  
“Only because you’re wearing those damn shorts.”  
“What, these?” Mettaton asked, running a hand over the material, forcing it further up his thigh. “They’re just something I threw on.”  
“They’re coming off,” you told him, pushing the robot up against the wall..  
You unbuttoned the shorts, yanking down the zipper. You slipped a hand into those awful little shorts and felt lace. Nice.  
“I hope you don’t wear those all the time,” you said softly, rubbing at that silicone slit. “I’d hate for someone to think you got dressed up for them instead of me.”  
Mettaton bit his lip, hips moving toward your hand. “No one’s allowed to think that.”  
You hummed, rubbing lace against silicone. A dampness met your fingers, one that only intensified the more you touched him.  
“You’re going to drive me mad,” Mettaton sighed.  
You kept rubbing your fingers against the lace, just to keep him warmed up. Mettaton’s eyes half-closed and he bit his lip. Could robots blush? You didn’t think so.  
“Do you know what I want to do?” you asked, pulling the shorts off his long legs.  
“I don’t,” Mettaton said, looking at you with faux-innocence.   
“I want to fuck you up against a wall so all the neighbours can hear,” you said, pulling down those lace panties.   
The space between Mettaton’s thighs was already pink. You ran a finger along his slit and found him practically dripping. When your fingers came away covered in pink slick, you brought your hand to your lips, sucking as noisily as possible. He tasted sugary, enough to rot your teeth.  
“Darling, you’re going to drive me crazy,” he moaned, pulling you closer by your belt loops. He began fumbling with your belt and pushing your jeans down your hips. He grinned and raised a brow, “Going commando?”  
“Didn’t feel like doing laundry,” you said, shrugging. “College has me booked. And then there’s you.”  
“I do like stealing your time,” he sighed, wrapping his legs around you.   
You’d have to thank Alphys for making him a lighter body. You didn’t think you could hold up a killer robot. Pressing him against the wall, you lowered him onto your cock, hard from all the teasing that Mettaton could do so well.  
The robot let out a long sigh, rolling his hips toward you.  
“Careful,” you warned. “I might drop you if you squirm too much.”  
Mettaton wrapped his arms around you, forcing himself closer. He also forced his hips down on your cock.  
“Fuck,” you gasped, holding his hips tight enough to turn your knuckles white. “I’m not gonna last if you keep doing that.”  
Mettaton grinned and gave a breathy moan. With that teasing, you were only more determined to make him scream.  
So you began fucking him against the wall of your apartment. His back thudded against the plaster and you knew your neighbours were going to complain later. You thrust into that spot, making him cry out loudly and lewdly.  
Shifting, you could hold him up with one hand. With your free hand, you began rubbing at his clit, making him squirm on your cock. Mettaton gave a little shriek, voice turning mostly to static as he twitched around you, squirting pink between the two of you.  
“You’re so fucking messy,” you grunted, pulling him closer.  
Mettaton’s eyes were clouded over with lust, just watching you. And you kept thrusting deeper and deeper into his wet heat.  
You came with a choked noise, burying your face in his neck. Mettaton squirmed, giving a soft noise of discomfort. He gently pushed your hips away from his, giving you a full view.  
His own pink fluids were mixed with white, turning the neon pink a lighter colour. Gently, you set him on his feet. After some fumbling and groping, you both fixed your clothes, enjoying pulling those shorts over Mettaton’s long legs.  
“Better than writing your essay?” he asked.  
“Way better,” you said, grinning. “But it’s due at eight in the morning.”


End file.
